


Horrible Fantasies

by radiomutt



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiomutt/pseuds/radiomutt
Summary: THIS IS PWP... PROBABLY. PLEASE SEE THE AUTHOR'S NOTES I AM SO SORRY.





	Horrible Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ. I wrote this in June of last year, and I'm way too terrified and embarrassed to reread it, so there will probably be a lot of typos and grammatical errors. I have no idea what this is about, but it had NSFW in the title in my Google docs so probably there's porking involved. I literally don't remember what this is about otherwise. So I can't give any warnings, which leads me to...
> 
> I WRITE THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE JUST TO SAY, **IF THERE IS ANYTHING THAT YOU FEEL NEEDS A TAG/WARNING, LET ME KNOW!** I'D APPRECIATE IT! ALSO, PLEASE DON'T CAST JUDGEMENTAL EYES ON MY PORN I READ A LOT OF VERY CHEAP AMAZON BOOKS. YOU LIKE STORIES ABOUT GAY FIREFIGHTERS? ME TOO, BECKY, DON'T JUDGE ME.

They were lucky to find the port at all, the  _ Hotspur  _ sadly limping into port just in the nick of time, riding low in the water. She’d a hole in her side, and they’d done what the could to patch it, but it would take proper carpentry to get her back to England. The crew were excited at the possibility of shore leave, and Horatio finally relented. “For morale,” he’d muttered, drowned underneath the cheers of sailors. Horatio himself would have been content to spend the time on board the Hotspur, pouring over charts to figure out the best routes to make for lost time, but Bush, always a worried mother hen, had convinced him it could wait - after all, they’d be back out at sea in five days, and it would be weeks either way before he’d get back to England and be able to eat something besides Styles’ cooking. That was what convinced him, in the end.

The town was small, and only had one inn. There weren’t enough rooms, and Horatio wouldn’t turn a crewman out of his room for himself, so Bush offered to share his.

“There’s only one bed.” Horatio had pointed out with a small frown.

“Then I’ll be sure to find something with which to occupy myself at night.” Bush responded, with a grin and a wink.

The first few nights, he was true to his word, and after drinking with Horatio in the pub below the inn, he’d find somewhere sweet and warm to bury himself at night, stumbling in at the morning and rolling into bed just as Horatio was rolling out. It was on the night before departure he found his luck flagging, and drank to make up for it, in the end forcing Horatio to help him stumble upstairs to their room. He’d barely gotten the older man out of the majority of his clothes before he’d lost consciousness, and had to drop him into bed in only his shirt. With a sigh, Horatio changed quickly into his own nightshirt, and struggled to get them both under the covers.

On the hours between the precipice of night falling into morning, Bush awoke halfway, the alcohol and sleep making his thoughts sluggish and confused. He knew he was painfully aroused, wasn’t wearing any trousers, and had spent the last few nights burying his cock deep in debauchery, so his brain filled in the blanks with the only logical conclusions it could muster, and he slid his hand up the leg of his bed partner, pushing up the fabric of their night shirt and giving access to what lay in wait underneath. The skin was soft and supple and gave way nicely under his palm as he squeezed. He pressed his erection between a soft pair of arse cheeks, and rolled his hips, sliding his cock up and down between them. In his still half asleep state, it was the most he could momentarily muster.

It was when Bush’s hand slid itself down the neck of his nightshirt and grasped at the softness of his chest that Horatio finally awoke, just in time to feel Bush’s thick cock slip out from between his cheeks, burying themselves between his thighs. At first too sleepy to register what was happening, he was quickly sobered up by the feeling of Bush pinching his nipple, squeezing and rolling it until it was tender, and Horatio was quite awake, thoroughly bewildered. He grasped at the bedsheets beneath them, bucking his hips in an attempt at escape. Bush wrapped an arm around his waist in quick response, pulling him in close once more. He nuzzled at Horatio’s ear, the coarse skin of his jawline tickling the sensitive skin of his neck, breath burning hot.

“Keep your legs tight, my little whore, unless you’d prefer I bury my cock in your sopping wet cunt instead.” Bush growled in a voice Horatio didn’t recognise, roughened by sleep and lust, and it send a thrill of something down his spine. The tone was threatening and predatory, and Horatio fell limp against him by instinct alone, snapping his legs closed tight around Bush’s cock. Bush resumed rocking, fasted this time, thighfucking Horatio with vigor, leaving wet trails of pre-cum on his inner thighs that made them slippery, all the easier for Bush. The older man was kneading his breast now, far from gentle in his treatment of Horatio’s nipple, while the other hand was kept tight around his waist, flat against the smoothness of his belly. Bush’s mouth remained at his ear, licking the shell and nibbling at the soft lobe, murmuring words Horatio couldn’t have even dreamt of himself. In the quietness of the early morning, Bush told him in low, animal tones, broken by grunts and moans, how smooth and fine his thighs were but what a delight it would be to thrust his cock into “her” eager cunt. “I’d love to hear you moaning beneath me while I fuck you rough and deep and hit all those sweet spots inside you that make you cry out like a bitch in heat. Shall I fuck you? Shall I fuck you so rough you forget how to walk in the morning? Shall fill your sluttish cunt with my cock and coat it in cum?” Horatio was flabbergasted at the degeneracy pouring out of his usually stolid lieutenant, completely struck for words from the shock of it - and even more so surprised to find his building arousal at hearing it, and to realise his hips were steadily grinding back against Bush’s thrusts. He turned his face into the pillow, biting into it to strangle his desperate moans. Bush wouldn’t stop, broken only by urgent panting as he fucked Horatio harder, his voice slurring tiredly as he went on, “Mmh, how sweet it would be have you writhing in pleasure beneath me as I fucked you. Or perhaps better still, to have you ride my cock, so I might have, ah!, full view of your body arching in, ah, ecstasy!”

It was at this point, with a shudder, Bush finally came, spilling out between Horatio’s thighs, sudden and extremely warm and wet. Mission fully accomplished, Bush fell quickly back into sleep. Horatio lay in silence in the bed beside him, breathing hard, the older man’s face still pressed into his neck. He was shaking slightly, and trapped in the position Bush had been in that had began it all - agonisingly aroused.

Eventually he was assured by the even tone of Bush’s breathing that the man was truly well asleep, and wriggled away, escaping his grasp at last. He was too awake now, too aroused, too aware of every part of himself. Any shift in his body caused the fabric of his nightshirt to rub against his swollen and sensitive nipple, causing little gasps of pleasure to escape him. Moving in bed caused his thighs to rub spreading smears of cum between them. There was nothing else for him to do, he reasoned, but to grasp his cock in hand, slowly beginning to stroke it. He slipped his free hand up under his nightshirt, teasing the nipple Bush had abused. In his mind, he could still hear the man’s voice, deep and guttural, growling filthy things in his ear. He bit into the pillow in an effort to be as quiet as possible, thrusting into his hand with a fervor, squirming and sliding his legs and feeling a shameful pleasure at the spreading stickiness between them. He came into his balled fist with a shudder and a muffled cry, then froze, straining his ears to be certain his bed companion was still fast asleep. When he was sure of it, and the quiet allowed shame and humiliation to set in, he eased himself out of bed, quickly padding over to the wash basin and cleaning himself up, cheeks aflame. How was he to face Bush in the morning? Good grief, what was he to say if he remembered the entire sordid adventure (Horatio felt  _ certain  _ he’d  _ never  _ forget it)?

When he crept back to bed, Bush had flung himself out into the spare space, but was otherwise, but all evidence, still asleep. Horatio gently wiped him down, careful not to wake him in the act of hiding any possible evidence, and then rinsed the washcloth before returning back and rolling him over, slipping into bed beside him. He turned his back to the man, feeling it impossible to face him now.

The morning came, even though Horatio spent the entire night awake and praying it wouldn’t. Bush was eased slowly into consciousness, with the low and desperate groans of a man heavy with hangover. Horatio squeezed his tired eyes shut and did his best to steady his breathing, pretending he still slept. Bush sat up in bed, flinging his legs over the side and burying his face in his hands. He sat there still for a long while, and Horatio feared he was remembering the events of last night. Eventually he got out of bed and made his way over to wash his face, and when Horatio rose, Bush’s face was plagued only with regret from the drink. Horatio felt relief more than disappointment, but shock that the disappointment was there at all.

They set sail late in the morning, Horatio reasonably certain that once the  _ Hotspur  _ was out at sea, his nerves would be settled and everything would go back to normal. Instead he found himself on edge, overly aware of just how little space there was on board a sloop and how much time he spent physically close to Bush. At times when out on deck, he’d hear Bush barking orders to the crew, and the rough edge of command in his voice held echoes of that shameful night in it. Horatio found himself lingering on deck in those instances, and locking the door to his cabin that night. He couldn’t forget how hard and hot and heavy Bush’s erect cock had been between his legs and couldn’t forget the feeling of having his legs coated in wetness, and couldn’t forget being pinned, helpless, against a broad male chest. There were times, in the deep hours of the night, he’d remember the things Bush said about having Horatio under him and fucking him deep, and he’d find his hand exploring further back between his legs than was common. He’d heard the stories. Men at sea for months and no company. When he was still seventeen, young and soft, he’d gotten looks that were confusing at first and later on enlightened. But while he played with the idea, he never played with himself, afraid to cross a line he felt there was no coming back from. Instead he fucked his own hand and moaned a name into a pillow.

* * *

Bush had noted his commanding officer’s cagey behaviour of late, but left it unremarked. Horatio was prone to snapping when asked questions he preferred not to answer. Perhaps it was fear at nearly losing his ship sinking in, and the lieutenant did his best to shrug off his friend’s strange behaviour. Horatio had also taken to locking his door, and took his time answering it when called upon. It hurt, quietly, that Horatio seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze, and yet hovered incessantly at his shoulder, as if unable to trust the man to do his job suddenly. But there was nothing that could be done about it except hope he recovered, in his own time.

They finally reached England, home at last, and Bush hoped it was an opportunity to bolster Horatio’s rattled nerves. Indeed, as they were given short leave, Horatio seemed slightly more at ease on dry land and with room to breathe. Frustratingly, however, he couldn’t manage to talk the lad into going drinking with him. Bush had vague flashbacks to the little town he’d forgotten the name of, and wondered if perhaps, while drunk, he’d done something to upset his longtime friend and make him feel hesitant around him. It was with these glum thoughts that Bush decided to go out on his own, and leave Horatio to his sulking.

His drinking mood was dampened by worried thoughts, but his desire to drink spurned on by it, and by the time Bush decided to head back to their shared house, he was feeling quite foul and in the mood for a confrontation. Every bit of sense in him was screaming that to do so was a poor idea, but unfortunately, every bit of sense in him had been thoroughly muted by alcohol. He was by no means roaring drunk when he fumbled his key at the lock, but he swayed unsteadily on his feet, slurring over a speech, practicing the dressing down he prepared to give his friend.

He had to take a short break to catch his breath halfway up the stairs, and by the time he’d reached the door to Horatio’s room, had lost quite a bit of steam. He leant against the door, feeling dizzy and apologetic for things he hadn’t even gotten an opportunity to say. The wood was nice against his forehead, cool and calming. Heavy and reassuring.

Not heavy enough to fully block the sounds coming from behind it, however. Bush was startled to hear Horatio calling his name, softly, and for a moment worried perhaps he knew the man was currently loitering outside his bedroom door. He raised a fist, preparing to announce his entrance and spill in with a thousand apologies on his tongue, but was given pause when he heard Horatio call his name again, but realising at last it was done so in odd tones. High. Strangled.  _ Pleading _ . Was he being plagued by a nightmare? Bush momentarily worried, but another voice in the back of his mind corrected him: you know  _ exactly  _ what that voice is. You know  _ exactly  _ what is going on behind that door.  _ And he is calling  _ your _ name while doing it _ .

Bush slowly knelt down and then pressed his ear flat against the keyhole, holding his breath to silence his own ragged, drunken breathing. He could hear it clearer now, Horatio moaning his name,  _ William _ . He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a steadying breath, and then peered through the keyhole. All he could see were a blurry pair of legs digging into the bed.

He stood slowly, trying not to make a noise and grasped the knob in one hand. Should he?

_ Absolutely not. Walk away and pretend you heard nothing _ , common sense said.

_ He’s calling your name. He’s practically begging for you _ , libido replied.

Pale, slender legs, spread out on the bed. A pale, gaunt face, flushed red with desire. Mouth open in an ‘O’ of desire. Bush could see it now, and his cock was responding to the fantasy. He squeezed the doorknob, and swung the door open, almost falling into the room.

Horatio was on the bed, too taken by surprise at first to respond. He wore nothing, which meant Bush saw  _ everything _ , a perfect image frozen in a moment by shock. He was gripping his cock in one hand, and the fingers of the other was clasped around a nipple - but but of them had been turned red and swollen by thorough teasing. His hair was a wild mess and strands of it were clinging to his face from sweat. Bush’s fantasy had been accurate, and indeed, Horatio’s pale skin was flushed a delicious shade of red that was getting darker by the second. It was a snapshot moment that disappeared in a flash as Horatio let instinct kick in, and he dove off the bed with a cry. But it was burned into Bush’s mind.

And bloody well sobered him up too.

The older man picked his way across the room, crawling onto the bed just as Horatio was dragging the blankets off it, swaddling himself in them for protection.

“Mr. Bush! Wh-when did you, ah, I didn’t hear-” He gibbered nervously, peering up at Bush with wide, terror-stricken eyes. “I thought I’d locked-”

“I heard you calling my name, Mr. Hornblower,” Bush spoke slowly, meeting Horatio’s gaze with firmness, “And thought perhaps you needed my assistance.”

“H-heard me-? By which I mean, ah, t-to say-” Horatio was shrinking into the blankets, back to being unable to look Bush in the eye, trying to bury himself in the fabric before he was buried in shame. “N-not at all! I have no need of, uh-”

“Are you certain?” Bush asked, and slithered down the side of the bed, trapping Horatio beneath him. “You looked like you were quite absorbed in something there.”

Horatio had nowhere else to look now but directly at Bush, and was a mess of nerves. He was quick-witted and decisive when pacing the deck of his ship, but here in his room, caught out by Bush and unable to run, he was a quivering mess. Somehow, seeing Horatio so nervous and uncertain and knowing he was wholly responsible for it just made Bush’s cock throb harder. He reached down, tugging away the blankets very forcefully, further stripping his Mr. Hornblower bare. One of his perky red nipples flashed briefly underneath the blanket Horatio was trying to wrestle out of Bush’s grasp, and the older man’s head was suddenly filled with the desire to clamp his mouth around it. He gripped the edge of the blanket in both hands, and gave one final heave, wresting it from Horatio at last. Before the young man had time to recover, he dove for his prize, dragging his tongue over it and then sucking at it with his mouth. Horatio was rendered helpless by surprise - or perhaps pleasure, judging from the sound he made - as Bush toyed with him.

“Mr. Bush, w-wwhat are you-” He moaned, burying his hands in Bush’s hair and trying to pry his mouth away from his chest. Bush let go of his nipple with a wet pop, looking down at Horatio blearily.

What on earth was he doing? He had no more idea than Horatio. He was simply having trouble forgetting the needy tones of Horatio calling out his name. Having him here, lying on the floor beneath him, shivering and erect and helpless, was playing merry hell on his good sense. He wanted to see Horatio even more messed up.  _ He  _ wanted to be the one causing him to cry out his name.

Bush slid a hand up Horatio’s leg, over the curve of his thigh, and it felt comfortable and familiar. He leant down, pressed cheek to cheek with the other man, and murmured in his ear, “I’ve got the most  _ maddening  _ urge to fuck you.”

Horatio moaned and his hips bucked up in eager response, to Bush’s surprise.

“You’ve been drinking, Mr. Bush.” The young man reasoned, sad and desperate.

“That I have, Mr. Hornblower, but that’s got aught to do with my desire to fuck you.”

It pleased Bush to realise that every time he said the word “fuck”, Horatio’s entire body shuddered, and he made the most delightful little sound in his throat. Bush traced a hand up and down the length of his thigh, and then slipped it between his legs, cupping his balls and then squeezing.

“I’m merely deciding whether it’s better to do it fast or slow.”

“F-fast!” Horatio gasped, and then to his further surprise, “Like I’m a whore!”

He seemed aware of what he’d said only after he’d said it, and somehow managed to find an even darker shade of red to turn, pushing at Bush and immediately trying to spout apologies and excuses at the same time. Bush, however, was too busy feeling the discomfort of kneeling on hard wood in his knees, so instead of listening, he slung one of Horatio’s arms around his shoulders and hoisted him up, dropping him on the bed. The man lay sprawled naked on the mattress, shocked beyond words. From his new perspective, he could finally see that Bush was hard as a rock, his erection straining against the tightness of his pants. Bush glanced up, realising the door was still wide open.

He pointed to Horatio, telling him sternly, “Stay.”

The key was on the nightstand. The door locked with a click after Bush closed it, and he left the key in the door for good measure. When he turned back around, Horatio was still on the bed, clutching the blankets to his chest like a scandalised maiden. Bush burbled a laugh at the thought of it, and Horatio, misunderstanding, scowled back.

He stripped himself as he made his way back to the bed, whilst Horatio swung between demanding to know what he thought he was doing and gently trying to tell Bush to go back to his own room and sleep off the booze. Bush slunk onto the bed beside Horatio, laying a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back down on the bed.

“For someone who was just calling out my name while flogging the dolphin, you seem terribly reluctant to let me fuck you.”

There it was again, that little shiver of pleasure. 

“You’re just drunk.” Horatio returned miserably.

Bush paused.

“When we were shored up - sharing that room. I did something to you, that last night, when I’d been drinking?”

Horatio turned his head, staring at the wall. “Now’s hardly the time to have that conversation.” He said softly.

“Now’s the perfect time, I think, Mr. Hor-  _ Horatio _ .”

Horatio turned his head at that, knocked off guard by the intimacy. Bush leant down and kissed his shocked mouth, cupping a cheek in his hand.

“What did I do, Horatio.” Or maybe that was the wrong question. “What do you  _ want  _ me to do?”

Horatio was staring at Bush, shyness in his gaze. It took another kiss to ease the answer out of him, and he spread his legs open in response to the repeated question. Bush trailed a hand down Horatio’s belly, then sucked quickly at his fingers, sliding them behind his cock and digging to find the waiting hole. One slipped inside the tight space, and already it was enough to make Horatio jerk. He pressed it in deeper, and Horatio grabbed Bush by the shoulders, fingertips digging into his flesh. It took time to work a second finger in, by which point Horatio was unable to keep still, and was writhing underneath him. He was choking out his name, sweet on his lips -  _ William _ .

It was fascinating to see how quickly Horatio had become so pliant and needy and desperate at Bush’s touches. He seemed to have abandoned all his reservations at last, and allowed Bush to freely roam his body, kissing every spare inch of skin, moaning and arching into each touch. When Bush played at his nipples this time, Horatio just cried out eager “yes”s. He kissed the taut skin across his ribcage, every worried about his commander’s weight, and made his way down to the erect and dripping cock flopped across his Horatio’s belly, leaving snail trails of pre-cum on his stomach as it flopped with each hitched breath. Fingers still buried to the knuckle inside him from behind, Bush launched a double assault, taking the cock in his mouth and sucking the head clean and polished. Horatio let out a gratifying cry, hips rocking up into his mouth eagerly.

Bush pressed a third finger against Horatio’s hole, and eventually it gave, and the younger man was left squirming and moaning. As they brushed deep within him, Horatio gave a sudden, startled cry, and then begged Bush to repeat whatever he had just done, a request which Bush willingly obliged. He thrust his fingers into Horatio as fiercely as he could, causing the man to buck his hips in happy response, cock shuddering as he came with force. 

The man lay panting at the bed, looking up at Bush with a dopey expression of contentment on his face, but the older man wasn’t even close to finished with him. He nudged his legs open, sliding his fingers out and pressing the head of his cock against the readied hole. Horatio, too sex-satisfied to initially realise what was going on, when rigid when he felt the thickness of Bush’s erect cock forcing its way inside. Horatio’s hips worked, rocking against the push, and eventually Bush felt himself settled all the way inside him, tight and snug. The eyes of the man beneath him were entirely unfocused, eyelids fluttering in the flood of sensation.

“ _ William _ .” He finally breathed, and buried his head in Bush’s shoulder, shaking hard. Bush braced himself, and slowly drew his hips out, before slamming back in again. Horatio reacted with his whole body, limbs flailing, head thrown back, making desperate, animal noises. Fast, like he were a whore, he had been asked, and fast, like he were a whore Bush fucked him, grunting and groaning, thrusting in fast and rough. Horatio couldn’t think or respond, only raked his nails down the man’s back, carrying on in carnal delight beneath him. Bush slid an arm underneath him, holding him close as he slammed into him over and over again. He felt it all reach a peak inside him, groaning into lover’s neck.

“Horatio-” he gasped, intending to prepare the man for what was about to come, but too late. Horatio had wrapped his legs around Bush’s hips and locked his ankles behind him, keeping him pinned close and making it impossible to pull out in time. So he came inside him, a hot spurt of cum filling up every inch of space inside. The noise Horatio gave passed through sound and came out as a strangled, silent cry, tears springing in the corners of his eyes. It was sheer ecstasy on his face, at the sensation of being filled up by his first lieutenant’s spunk.

Bush collapsed, breathing heavily, on top of him, still buried inside. He kissed Horatio, happy and deep, and the young man opened his mouth, pliant under his attention. He finally managed to ease himself out of his younger lover when Horatio seemed to tired to keep his legs locked any longer, and rolled off him, snuggling it close to his side. He pushed dark curls of hair out of his face, kissing exposed temple, and Horatio sleepily pressed himself up close to Bush. He fit neatly in Bush’s arms, slender and beautiful and coated in cum - which would have to be cleaned up, but tomorrow felt like a better time than now. All he wanted to do was draw the blankets up over the both of them and fall asleep holding Horatio, who was spent and happy and clinging desperately to him.

So that was exactly what he did.

* * *

Horatio awoke the next morning with pangs in his lower backside and a feeling of cloying heat at his side. Confused at first, memories of the night previous rose quickly in his mind and he froze in a state of panic. Bush was still holding him close, the source of suffocating warmth, and seemed uninclined to let him go. Horatio wanted to lie there, allow himself to be fooled into thinking it all meant something a moment longer, but the moment Bush woke up, there’d have to be explanations, excuses. Horatio tried to ease himself out of the man’s arms, and panicked when he realised there was cum still inside him, now dribbling out as he sat up. The thought brought back the memory, and his damn traitorous cock began to stiffen.

Yes, several fantasies he’d been toying with for weeks had happened all at once last night. But Bush had, once again, been drinking. Had once again made a mistake, an error in judgement, due to urgent arousal.

Oh God, but it had been so good.

He realised he was being watched, and swallowed, turning to find Bush awake and staring up at him. Horatio braced himself for what was to come, already putting on a crisp, commanding voice: “Good morning, Mr. Bush! Not too hungover, I hope, as I was hoping that today you might take a stroll with me down to the port and see to the  _ Hotspur _ . I realise we have yet to receive new orders-” Damn his trembling voice, and damn Bush for letting him ramble!

“Horatio, let it wait another half hour.” Bush finally cut in, pouncing on Horatio and dragging him back downward with all his weight. His mouth closed over Horatio’s, burningly hot, and he felt Bush’s tongue sliding into his mouth, teasing at his own. A moan he didn’t intend to make was teased out of his lips, and he gasped for air when Bush finally relented, pulling the covers back over him.

“Why-” Horatio began.

“It seemed the easiest way to get that mouth of yours to stop.” Bush mumbled with a smile, kissing Horatio’s bared shoulder. “That, and because I wanted to.” He paused, at last looking at the other man with a hint of anxiousness. “Would you rather I not have?”

“No!” Horatio blurted quickly, then flushed. “No, rather what I  _ meant  _ to say was-  _ ah-! _ ” Anything further was cut off by a startled moan, as he realised Bush had buried a hand between his legs and was idly playing with his stiff cock. “M-Mr. Bush-”

“ _ William _ will continue to suffice, Horatio.” Bush mumbled into his shoulder, and Horatio marvelled at him. Everything he had been wrecking his nerves over, holding back inside him, torturing himself over, had been easily dismissed in a kiss and a word by the man.

“W-William.” Horatio mumbled shyly, and eased himself back into Bush’s embrace. The morning wore on, and little else was said.


End file.
